Our Apocalypse
by Amalthea1
Summary: New Paths lead to new ways by which we may reach our desination.. H/S
1. Prelude

I have stolen collectively What I could never have- Never deserved- And so Lost In course of raging waters That call my name with vengeance. We Have Gone! The Fall is upon us, Though the apocalypse has taken it already. My heart is beginning to darken- To Fail- To Open and Die and Heal At the thought of Losing You. -(me)  
  
  
  
A fire burned in dark room where music played. The notes rose and fell, spread and gathered with a pattern that strummed her core. The sonata was rhapsodous, fluid, dark and light at the same moment, calling a plethora of emotions forward from her. Ah, the dark: the sweet, engulfing dark. She looked down at the contract before her. A signature was all that was needed for its completion. The woman closed her eyes, seeping into Beethoven's 21st. Downward, soft, light, pleading, brooding, then a dance, melody herself swept off her feet and into some oblivion. Her thoughts returned to her with: Yes. This is right. With compulsive severity, she grabbed the pen on the desktop and signed with sensuous strokes: Hermione Granger.  
  
  
  
Sunlight shone through the linen curtains at Hermione's London flat, gently prying her eyes open, begging her to take notice of the day it had begun. Also imploring her attention, though notably with more force, was Crookshanks, her cat.  
  
"Oh Jesus Crookshanks, please don't." she grumbled as a fuzzy tail brushed her nose.  
  
The cat gave Hermione a dignified look as he padded away, waiting with certain knowledge, the arrival of its breakfast.  
  
Hermione rubbed the sleep from her eyes, attempting to adjust them to the light. With difficulty, she plodded to the kitchen to feed the cat. and perhaps herself, providing there was edible food in the pantry. The dilemma she had the former night over the contract was evident in the bottles of wine and beer that lay strewn across the floor and desk like conquered soldiers.  
  
Well that accounts for this accursed headache.  
  
"Meow." Answered Crookshanks.  
  
"Ok, Ok.. There you are, you majesty," she said as she administered the dry cat food into his bowl.  
  
He looked at her in disgust.  
  
"I'm so sorry, sir, but the treasury is a bit on the low this month"  
  
The look continued.  
  
"Hey, Take it or leave it Mr."  
  
Crookshanks appeared not to comprehend, but as she turned away to see what she could scrounge up for herself, she heard the unmistakable crunch of cat food, which implied he indeed was not above a meal.  
  
Long live the king she thought wryly as she peered into the cupboard. After sorting through assorted canned goods she deemed unworthy of breakfast, she found a granola bar hidden behind a can of olives. Hermione drank the last gulp left in the milk jug and wandered into the study, crunching her granola as she went.  
  
She picked up the topmost paper off the main pile on her desk (Harry often said she had butchered a small forest with all of it that was there) and looked it over with scrutiny. She set down the granola bar, found and filled an envelope with the parchment and sealed it with amber wax: HG. Hermione summoned her owl, Archimedes, a Christmas gift and the only productive thing that she had to show from that relationship.  
  
She fished through a desk drawer for an owl treat, and giving it to him, sent him on his way.  
  
No wonder I have no food, she thought dryly, though it's better than being completely alone, she reprimanded herself.  
  
Completely alone, she wasn't- but she was damned close.  
  
She kept in touch with Harry and Ron, of course, but they were always ungodly busy with all things auror- related. Voldemort was still at large, but hope still flickered, despite rampant assaults by Death Eaters.  
  
She wished she could write them to see how they were, what they were doing and the sorts. But she didn't know where they were, and didn't feel she should pester them with small talk.  
  
What you've just done is nothing small, a voice inside her head piped. She wanted to share it with someone. anyone. As the reality of what lie ahead of her set in, she felt exuberant. She wanted to scream all bloody hell.  
  
But she sat. Quietly. In her London Flat.  
  
Alone. 


	2. 1st Movement

Saved from Myself ~Jewel  
  
How often I've cried out  
In silent tongue  
To be saved  
From myself  
In the middle of the night  
Too afraid  
To move  
Horrified the answer  
May be beyond the capability of my  
Own two hands  
So small  
(no one should feel this alone)  
  
She was beautiful. The white stretched to the horizon and beyond, a circumference that only eternity could break. Her immaculate dress flowed and swayed as if the air had liquefied; And her hair shown with a glow, radiance from within. She reached out to him who could already feel his body lightening- the aches and scars collected over the years vanished in moments. The medium tensed and waned to break. The woman whose eyes were gold opened her mouth.and screamed. The sound was unworldly, beautiful and terrible at once, and he sank into it, while at the same time longed to flee. The air pulsated, rippling with its message. The world of light flared, then shattered, fading into blackness. It was this blackness that found a sweat-drenched Severus Snape in the dark of his dungeon bedroom, shaking and alone.  
  
Time had forged Severus Snape into what he had become: a tired and cynical, beat and sneering introvert. He stalked around the school, threatening with menacing glares whatever unfortunate soul happened by his path.  
  
That morning, Headmaster Dumbledore found Severus sipping red dragon scale tea over lists of potion supplies needed for the upcoming year.  
"Severus," came the Headmaster's quiet voice from the door.  
  
"Headmaster." Snape replied, curtly glancing up before returning to his work.  
  
Dumbledore entered the room, the door groaning as it closed behind him.  
  
"Sleep well?" His tone implied a smile had formed as he said it.  
  
Snape glared but did not reply. He still had suspicions, as many others, of Albus Dumbledore's ability to read minds. But perhaps it was the dark circles under his eyes that evoked such comment.  
  
Dumbledore chose to take Snape's brooding silence as an invitation to join, and so sat in a large leather chair adjacent to the front left corner of the desk.  
  
Snape knew Dumbledore had come for a reason, though he also knew it would not involve any dark meetings in the near future. He was always called to Dumbledore's office for those delighting announcements.  
  
'No,' he thought dryly, 'He's come to pry.'  
  
Dumbledore straitened in his chair and focused on Snape, as if about to say something, but did not. The seconds ticked away in silence.  
  
"Oh for Merlin's sake, Headmaster, I expect you've come for a reason. Am I to be enlightened in the near future or shall I wait a while?" Snape demanded icily.  
  
Dumbledore remained silent. They continued to regard each other across the paper- covered desk, one with quiet contemplation, and the other in nervous suspicion. Snape was the first to lower his gaze as he shifted uncomfortably and softened his expression.  
  
Clearing his throat, he tried to find the appropriate words. "I. I apologize, Headmaster. I-",  
  
"No, no, Severus. It's quite all right. I.. hmm..," He looked at Snape with cool blue eyes dancing, " well, you've been wonderful. Thank you. Yes, you've been most helpful. Good Day."  
  
And with that, Dumbledore left as a dumb-founded potions professor looked on.  
  
*~*~*~*~  
  
Hermione stepped into her flat laden with paper bags. Her tawny owl greeted her from atop one dining room chair. Immediately, Hermione spotted the white envelope with the familiar crimson seal of Hogwarts. Stepping into the kitchen, she eagerly set down her groceries and keys, the noise of which caused Archimedes to flutter in surprise.  
  
"Hello there. What have you got for me, love?"  
  
She fished out a cracker from a package in one of the brown bags, which the owl took gratefully as Hermione took the envelope. Inside, Hermione found exactly what had caused a week's worth of sleepless nights' anticipation.  
  
"To Ms Hermione Granger:  
  
The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry wishes to extend a warm hand of welcoming to you, our new Arithmancy professor. Classes will begin Sept. 1. Professors are asked to arrive August 29 with supplies and personal baggage for the year. Please send your boarding preferences by way of return owl.  
  
Sincerely,  
Albus Dumbledore  
Headmaster  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"  
  
Hermione slept very well indeed that night.  
~*~*~*~*~  
(1 week later)  
  
Late morning light flooded the room, as Hermione looked around her flat appraisingly.  
  
"I think that's about all." she said to Crookshanks.  
  
A large black trunk sat by the door, the contents of which could be guessed at the empty bookshelves. Three leather bags filled with robes and various other personal items joined it there.  
  
She picked up a paper from the coffee table that had a list of items three columns long on the front.  
  
"Arithmancy's Role for the Young Witch and Wizard, check. So You Want to Teach Arithmancy, check. Hogwarts: a History revised Again, check. Alchemy through the ages, check."  
  
She continued down the list that included the books, teaching utensils, clothes, and everything else she intended to bring. Having checked it all, and double-checked, Hermione grabbed Crookshanks and disapparated herself and her belongings to Hogsmeade.  
  
Three butterbeers, several re-acquaintances, and two hours later, she entered Hogwarts castle, levitating bags and trunk in tow. Crookshanks purred contentedly from atop the large trunk. With a sigh, Hermione realized how much she had missed the castle and grounds.  
  
'I had better find Prof. McGonagall about my room,' she thought as she looked around.  
  
She was so captivated by her new- found nostalgia that she hardly noticed the menacing silhouette of a man coming down the hallway toward her. They collided in a twirl of robes and limbs. Hermione lost her balance and fell to the stone floor. The bags, having lost their guide, dropped to the ground, their thud resonating in the stone hall. Crookshanks spat bad- temperedly and darted away.  
  
"Gods, woman! Have you no eyes to see?"  
  
The male party impatiently dusted himself off as Hermione murmured something of an apology.  
  
She knew that voice- one who had denied her any praise, had bitten and lashed out at her and caused a great many tears. Hermione blushed as slender fingers on an outstretched hand clasped hers and drew her up to her feet. She looked into the man's eyes.  
  
She found only a flicker of interest there as his glance drew across her face before Professor Snape stalked away down the hall, his footsteps reverberating against the stonewalls upon which Hermione leaned, flushed.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Hermione flung herself onto her bad and heaved a sigh. Teaching at Hogwarts. Some of the greatest minds of the time would be her co-workers.  
  
"Sheesh." she sputtered.  
  
She sat up and admired her new quarters. Her room was still a bit cluttered from files and books she planned to put in her office, but she was settling in nicely. Crookshanks had reappeared from the afternoon's disturbance sometime while Hermione was unpacking her bathroom supplies to sit comfortably atop her down comforter, which had been clumsily spread on her full four-poster. She felt odd- tired but restless at the same time. Hermione got slowly to her feet and sidled over to the right of the two ancient but lavish scarlet chairs in front of the fireplace. Sitting down, she pulled her knees to her chin, thoughtfully staring into the orange flames. As she surveyed the barely lit room, she couldn't decide whether the shadows that flickered on the walls and tapestries around her were dancing or menacing. Menacing.hmm.Professor Snape's scowl focused in her mind. In school, she, Harry, and Ron had loathed him- thought him evil and spiteful, which she would admit, he was often. But they were immature, and Hermione knew that they had judged him without thought to life's cruelty and man's weakness to bitterness. She was overanalyzing again. She looked over at the empty chair beside her. Why were there two? Why did there have to be two? One would have served its purpose without reminding her of her absolute singularity, but she decided she had had enough thought for one night without thinking that the chairs were mocking her.  
  
'Getting crazy in my old age.' she thought, only half jokingly.  
  
Sighing, she blew some stray hair from her face, untangled her cramped legs to get up, and blew out her bedside candle to climb into warm rumpled covers.  
  
Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had eaten a breakfast that hadn't tasted of cardboard flakes. As she entered the dining hall, enticing smells of fried bacon, eggs, and toasted English muffins wafted to her. 'Gods, I love Hogwarts,' she smiled inwardly.  
  
It was only the 30th- she still had two days to get herself in order before the students arrived.  
  
She seated herself to the right of Prof. McGonagall, grimacing as the chair grinded loudly across the floor.  
  
'So much for going unnoticed'  
  
Her former professor looked up from her eggs and muffin.  
  
"Good morning, Ms Granger. I trust you found your rooms comfortable?"  
  
"Very, thank you- for helping me yesterday, I mean."  
  
The rest of breakfast continued on in abysmal small talk, during which Hermione was asked the same questions over and over as each teacher joined the table and recognized her. How are you? How have things gone? Where are you living now? Any men in your life? At which point Hermione reddened, mumbled something to the extent of "mmnonotreallynoneI'vemetthanks" and pretended to be fascinated with her eggs. It was odd, she had to admit, to act as an equal to those whom she had regarded as authorities for so long, and to hear and see them interact as normal people. She did notice the absence of a certain potions professor, but wasn't surprised. There had been many mornings during which she, Harry, and Ron had noticed Snape was not at the high table in the mornings. She wondered briefly if she would see him anywhere today. She had somewhat enjoyed the attention during breakfast and all the compliments- "Your hair is simply gorgeous! Who would've known that mass of waves was just a mass of ringlets?" "I used to have a figure like that when I was 23!" and so on, and so when she had finished her meal, she made an excuse for herself to leave, grateful to be away from the excitement.  
  
The sun was midway in the eastern sky, brightening the airy halls and monumentous rooms of the main castle as life became evident in the scurrying movements of the school inhabitants. After breakfast, Hermione had hurriedly began transporting all needed supplies to her office space. It was dusty, made even more so as each particle was magnified by the sunlight that shone through the balcony window.  
  
By noon, most of her things were on their shelves or in her desk in respectable order. She found herself flitting around the room looking for something that needed to be done. She ran her hand through as much as could of her copper spiraled locks, turning towards the door with a sigh.  
  
'Books!' she thought suddenly, 'There must be more books,' and she strode through the portrait toward her quarters.  
  
After climbing all the way up to her rooms and finding none but one or two more books that she thought grudgingly could go to her office, she tidied up the rooms, living space and office alike. Moving and cleaning took the majority of the day and her energy. She decided not to go down to dinner in the hall, she had had a large lunch, and knew if she got hungry, she could always go to the kitchens, given the Hogwarts elves forgave, forgot, or didn't recognize her. She spent the rest of the evening reading up on educator's tips and Arithmancy techniques, eager to learn, as always, even if it meant learning about learning and other ways to learn.  
  
It was 10:30 when she awoke, the embossed title of her book, etched partly in her right cheek. She lay awake for a while thinking of whether or not teaching was much the same as flying, in that she wouldn't be good at it, despite the books. She could see in all now- McGonagall's disappointment, Snape's sneer, the student's confusion. all percolating so that she had to close her eyes to rid herself of their vivid faces. Hermione sat up quickly, but as she had been lying for sometime, the result was the black closure that closed itself over her like someone's hands.  
  
'Whoa,' she thought, hand to her forehead. She needed to relax after the last two days.  
  
She stripped down and walked into the bathroom, lighting a few candles with  
a wave of her wand, and ran an extra hot bath in the sunken granite tub.  
Absentmindedly, she threw in jasmine salts and flicked her wand over the running tap murmuring "Aromas stratos", resulting in the bubbled effect she  
was accustomed to from her prefect years in the school. They seemed A lifetime apart. So many roads had diverged with and abandoned the path she followed now, and looking back, she saw her life was all of segments, bubbles in themselves, drifting apart and reflecting the same image. Hermione straightened herself from her bent position over the tub to look in the mirror. A freckled face with the button nose that has amused her past lovers reflected blurrily from the fogging glass, dancing between darkness and light with the to and fro of the candlelight. She climbed into the steaming water and sank, engulfing herself entirely. When she emerged with water streaming from her hair tips dripping from her eyelashes, she let her anxiousness and insecurities be dragged into the foamy abyss with the sulky beads of water that paraded down her skin. 


End file.
